


Episodic

by Ael



Series: Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations [4]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mutants, Alternate Universe - X-Men Fusion, Episode Related, Gen, Mirror Universe, Not Beta Read, Tarsus IV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-09-01 15:13:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8629102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ael/pseuds/Ael
Summary: The Enterprise and her crew are finally out on their five-year mission to explore strange new worlds. A collection of mission snippets from the first three years, with a mutantverse/AOS twist.





	1. Double

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is based on TOS 1x05 The Enemy Within.

It's never a good sign when there's a call for a medteam to visit the transporter room. Doubly so if the captain's gone down with the landing party. But Scott doesn't sound stressed, at least not the same kind that comes with serious injuries to attend to, just... confused, maybe?

 

Whatever. McCoy resists the urge to roll his eyes, wondering what the hell Kirk's gotten himself into this time, and grabs his quick-response bag before heading to the transporter room. Two security guards join him halfway there, which can't be a great sign either.

 

He stops just inside the door, eyes wide as he takes in the scene before him. Scott is standing to one side of the transporter console, halfway shielding the captain, who looks wide-eyed and way too passive for the doctor's liking. And being held at phaser-point is _another_ Kirk, wings flared aggressively, feathers standing on end, all but _growling_ in warning.

 

The hostile Kirk's head snaps up at the sound of the door, and the moment he sees security reds, he attacks. His massive wings sweep forward, striking one officer hard enough that McCoy can hear his wrist snap from the force of it. The officer cries out in pain, but his other hand comes up to squeeze off a stun bolt, which barely misses.

 

The other security officer ducks under the captain's wing strikes, stunning him with a shot to the shoulder. Kirk howls as he collapses, and goes silent as he takes another stun bolt to the back, out cold for the moment. The officer's on him in an instant, locking restraint cuffs on his arms and strapping his wings to his back.

 

"What the devil's going on here?" McCoy demands, automatically turning to the other Kirk, the one that's hiding behind Scott. To his surprise and concern, the other captain doesn't answer, staring down at his unconscious double in shock. "Scotty?" the doctor insists. _Someone_ needs to answer the question, dammit.

 

"I don't _know_ ," Scott breathes, and now that the berserk version of the captain is down, he can't stop looking between the two of them. "I beamed up the captain and he was acting a bit strange, so I was going to bring him down to Medical. But then the transporter activated on its own and _he_ showed up," he says, nodding towards the stunned man on the floor.

 

"Two of them, god help me," McCoy mutters, but a spike of worry twists through his gut. "Jim, how're you feeling?"

 

He expects some kind of cocky comeback, but it doesn't come. The conscious captain just looks at him in surprise, almost docile in his compliance. "Little dizzy, Bones. Other than that, I'm okay."

 

_He didn't even try to lie._ Now that worries McCoy even more than seeing the other one go ballistic on security. How the hell are they supposed to figure out which one is the real one if _both_ are acting out of character? "Put that one in the brig," he says, nodding toward the man on the floor. "I'll check him out after I look this one over. Scotty... you'd better tell Spock about this ASAP."

 

"Aye," Scott agrees. "And there'll be no using the transporter until I find out what happened."

 

"I _told_ you this thing would scramble your molecules one day," McCoy grumbles, grabbing passive-Kirk by the sleeve and giving it a tug. "C'mon, Sickbay, now."

 

"Okay." There's not so much as a hint of resistance, the young captain falling into step without a peep of protest. He keeps his wings tightly folded against his back, making his profile as small as possible, which is such a _weird_ look for him that McCoy almost stumbles in shock. Kirk's always been larger than life, taking up way more space than any one man is entitled to, his personal space bubble overlapping everyone else's by a lot. Watching him now, it's like seeing him shrink in on himself, somehow _less_ than what he was before. It's worrying as fuck.

 

So is the part where he doesn't even try to flirt with any of the nurses, just hopping up on a biobed, sitting there quietly, patiently. Nor does he protest at any point in the examination, not even when McCoy spends several long minutes taking brain scans. "What's wrong with me? I don't feel right."

 

"I don't know yet, Jim." The good thing, if anything about this can be called good, is that the DNA analysis matches. It's definitely Kirk, not some kind of clone or imposter. Past that... who the hell knows? "I've got to check out the other you to have something to compare this to. There's definitely something weird going on with your vitals."

 

"Can I come?" Kirk asks, and if not for his bizarre attitude thus far, McCoy might assume that wide-eyed look to be some kind of feigned innocence. "Maybe I can help figure it out. I mean, he's me, right?"

 

"I don't know if that's a good idea," McCoy says, but Kirk's never turned those baby blues on him quite like this before. It's rather unsettling to say the least. "Fine, but you're not going into his cell with him, not even to talk, all right?"

 

"Sure thing, Bones." God help him, but McCoy believes it when he says it. There's something almost painfully honest about this Kirk, like the idea of lying to get his way doesn't even occur to him. It's unnatural.

 

Down in the brig, Spock is already present when they arrive, standing in front of the transparency, looking down at the still-unconscious form of the other Kirk, who is now unbound. He looks up at the sound of new arrivals, and raises his eyebrow when he sees McCoy and Kirk. "Mister Scott reported that you had been duplicated, captain, but seeing it for myself is quite fascinating."

 

McCoy bristles at his cold scientific attitude, but at his side, Kirk just nods in agreement. "It's totally weird." His gaze flicks to his duplicate, then back to Spock. "Security must've really stunned him hard. He's still out."

 

"Not a surprise, given how nuts he went in the transporter room," McCoy growls, stepping forward enough to start scanning the duplicate Kirk through the barrier. "He snapped Jensen's wrist like a twig for no goddamned reason. There's no telling what he would've done if they hadn't knocked him out."

 

"Interesting." Spock clasps his hands behind his back, and turns towards the more docile of the two Kirks. "Captain, there does appear to be some kind of processing issue with the transporter. Technician Fisher beamed up ahead of you with an unknown ore on his uniform. It seems to have affected the mechanism's function somehow. Mister Scott is still investigating."

 

There's a groan from the other side of the transparency as the duplicate begins coming around. He blinks in confusion, then fear flickers across his face, quickly followed by rage. He leaps to his feet, wings flared wide, looming over McCoy as best he can from inside the cell. "What the _fuck_ , Bones?" he demands. "What the hell is this about? And who the fuck is that?" he snarls, jabbing a finger toward the other Kirk accusingly.

 

God, this is too _weird_. It sounds exactly like Kirk, whenever the captain gets truly pissed off, but there's no trace of friendliness in the captain's face. And McCoy is certain that if he wasn't trapped in the brig, they might all be in danger. The doctor straightens, looking the duplicate captain in the eye and hoping it's not like challenging a rabid dog. "That's what I'm trying to figure out, captain."

 

Angry-Kirk grits his teeth, fists clenched, standing nose-to-nose with the doctor through the transparency. "You better figure it out right _now_ , doctor," he sneers. "Or I'll court martial your ass so fast, you won't know what the fuck hit you. Now get me _out of here_ ," he hisses.

 

"I am sorry, captain, but we cannot allow that," Spock says calmly. He's the only one who doesn't jump when the duplicate punches the transparency, breaking his own knuckles, beating his wings bloody against the barrier, screaming in hysterical defiance.

 

" _I'm the goddamn captain_!"

 

" _Jesus_ ," McCoy whispers, unable to look away. He's seen his friend drunk, sick, shaking with cold fury, but he's never seen him lose control like _this_ before. It's just as strange as seeing the other one so quiet and compliant.

 

The calmer version of the captain is staring at his duplicate in puzzled fascination, and McCoy can't even take a guess at what's going through his mind right now. "Bones, is he me too?"

 

The doctor manages to tear his gaze away from the howling maniac in the brig and looks down at his tricorder. "From what I can tell... yeah, it's you, Jim. Both of you are. Your vitals are off, and so are his, like you're... breaking down somehow, physically."

 

Spock looks intrigued, but turns back to the imprisoned Kirk. "Captain, your efforts to escape are futile. You will accomplish nothing except to injure yourself further. Please cease your actions, or we will be forced to incapacitate you again."

 

Somewhere along the way, the duplicate has slid from rage into some kind of frenzied panic, and he tears himself away from the barrier, wings arched high around himself protectively as he slides into the corner of the cell, the only place he can even try to hide. It's horrifying to watch, and part of McCoy irrationally wants to get in there and hug it out with the bastard. He may be a dangerous lunatic, but it's _Jim_ who's absolutely losing it before his eyes, even if it's only part of him, somehow.

 

There's no hint of fear in the other Kirk's face as he kneels next to the transparency, his hands on the barrier as he watches his other self. "Don't be scared. They'll figure out how to fix this. Put us back together." He frowns and looks up at his first officer. "Right, Spock?"

 

"It is our top priority," Spock agrees without hesitation. "Mister Scott is working on the problem as we speak. I have little doubt that he will discover the answer in short order."

 

The calmer Kirk nods, and turns back toward the cell, nothing but earnest compassion on his face. "He's so scared," he murmurs. "I know I... should be, but I'm not."

 

"It appears to be an even split," Spock muses, watching the two captains. One docile, desiring nothing more than to reassure his other self. The other in a blind panic, huddled in on himself, untrusting of anything and everything around him. "A visible, demonstrable divide between what you might consider good and evil."

 

McCoy feels a surge of anger well up in him. "Spock, this is _Jim_ you're talking about! Not a science experiment!"

 

"I am aware, doctor," the Vulcan replies calmly. "Regardless of how this came to be, there are interesting insights to be learned from the situation while it lasts."

 

"So write it up in a goddamn paper after it's all said and done," McCoy hisses. "But in the meantime, stop talking about it while they can hear you. You're not exactly Mister Sensitive, and I don't even know how the hell to settle him down like _this_."

 

Spock appears to consider it. "Very well, Doctor McCoy." If he's disappointed, McCoy can't tell. Fucking Vulcans, seriously.

 

The gentler Kirk is sitting down next to the cell barrier now, despite the fact that his more volatile self doesn't seem interested in any reassurance he has to offer. "Bones, we have to help him. Me. Us." He rubs at his forehead, and it doesn't take a medical degree to tell that he's still dizzy. Not a surprise, given his vitals are all over the place. "I'd like to stay for a bit. Is that okay?"

 

"I don't think that's a good idea, Jim," McCoy says slowly, looking back and forth between the two captains. The one in the cell is still hiding behind his wings, his back to the transparency, rocking slightly - although whether it's from panic or pain is entirely guesswork at this point. "I don't think he's listening to you."

 

The quieter Kirk just nods. "I know. It doesn't matter. He needs me. I'm pretty sure I need him, too. I'm supposed to be the captain, but I don't feel like one right now. What else can I do right now?"

 

Oh fuck, McCoy's never heard him like this before. Helpless, but _accepting_ of it. That's not like Jim Kirk at all. He puts his hand on Kirk's shoulder, not sure what else to do. "I guess it wouldn't hurt... If you're sure, Jim."

 

He just nods. "Yeah, I am. Let me know when you've got a solution, Spock?" It's not an order, it's a _question_ , and it's clear why Kirk doesn't feel like much of a captain at the moment. His darker half has the will to dominate, to put himself above his subordinates, the determination that every leader must have. This kinder, gentler half of Kirk doesn't. And no one leads through warm fuzzy feelings alone.

 

"I shall do so, captain," Spock promises.

 

It takes hours for Spock and Scott to narrow down the transporter problem, but even then, the solution is uncertain. The gentler Kirk listens quietly as Spock lays out the risks, and behind him, the other one watches them warily, cradling his broken hand under the protection of his bloodied wings. "The reintegration could kill you, captain, but I believe you are strong enough to overcome it," Spock finishes.

 

"It sounds risky, but necessary," calm-Kirk agrees reasonably.

 

"Are you fucking crazy?" the other Kirk hisses. "I don't want to _die_! It was fucking awful the first time! And for what? So I have to deal with _him_?" he snaps, jerking his head toward his gentler self. " _Forget it_."

 

McCoy tries not to show how much that disturbs him. "Look... Jim, you're already dying. Both of you. If we don't put you back together soon, you _will_ die."

 

"We have to do it," the gentler Kirk agrees, looking at his other half. "We're half the man we used to be. Without each other, we're not the captain. You can't go on like this, and I can't either. If we don't do this, we'll never sit in the captain's chair again. Ever."

 

His darker side hisses wordlessly, fear and uncertainty painted across his face. "Fine," he growls out. "Not like you're leaving me a choice." He glares at them all as he stands, every line in his body screaming that he's being forced into this, but McCoy can't wait for him to come around. He may not be _able_ to. And if one part of Kirk consents... should that count for both? God, he'll be glad when this is over.

 

The hostile captain is put in restraints for the trip to the transporter room, guarded by four men in security reds, and McCoy tries not to think of Khan. The other Kirk trails along passively, unafraid that he might be marching to his death once more. "I'll be fine, Bones," he tells the doctor optimistically.

 

"I hope so, Jim," McCoy says, and can't resist pulling his friend into a hug. If this is the last thing he gets to do for him, then by god, he's not letting Kirk go without this one simple thing. "Now you go tell your evil twin to get back in your head where he belongs, you hear?"

 

"He's not evil, just... lost." He steps up onto the transporter pad, and the security officers uncuff his other self, holding him at phaser point in case he decides to resist. But he joins his other half on the pad, standing face to face, almost a perfect mirror. "Energize," one of them says, and Scott crosses his fingers before pulling the switches to dematerialize them.

 

There's a long, horrible moment where the transporter pad stands empty.

 

"Here goes nuthin'," Scott mutters, and activates the transporter again. It whirrs to life, and one single man takes shape on the pad. McCoy holds his breath, hoping against hope that Kirk doesn't materialize and drop dead.

 

"Ow, shit." Kirk hunches over a little, wings drooping, and he holds his busted hand by the wrist. A strange, unreadable series of emotions flash over his face, bewilderment being most dominant, and he closes his eyes. "Well, that's confusing as fuck."

 

"Jim?" McCoy asks hopefully, warily.

 

"Yep," Kirk answers, keeping his eyes shut. "All of me. I think. I've got, um, two sets of memories at the same time, it's kinda... disorienting."

 

"Sickbay," McCoy tells him.

 

"Boooones."

 

The doctor smiles, that one word letting it really sink in. Their captain's back to his normal, non-docile, non-psychotic self. The worst patient he's ever had, and thank God for that. "Come on, Jim. Let me fix you up. You really did a number on yourself."

 

"Yeah, that was stupid of me," Kirk agrees, opening his eyes now and looking around the transporter room, a little embarrassed. "Uh, I don't suppose we can swear never to talk about this again, right?"

 

"Sorry, sir," Scott says apologetically, and turns to dismiss the security officers, content that they're no longer needed.

 

"Jim, you really scared the shit out of me," McCoy admits as he escorts the captain down to Medical.

 

"I scared the shit out of myself," Kirk concurs, nodding. "But I couldn't have done it without you, Bones. Thanks for being there for me. Both of me."

 

Well, what else is he supposed to say to that? "You're welcome, Jim. Now let's take a look at that hand."


	2. Actor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This snippet is loosely based on TOS 1x13 The Conscience of the King.

It is purely by chance that they find him.

 

It was supposed to be a brief supply run. Stop at Starbase Three, pick up provisions and a shipment of dilithium crystals to deliver further along their route, spend a little time on shore leave, and then get the heck out. Of course when it comes to the _Enterprise_ , things are rarely so easy.

 

Uhura has never been a big fan of Shakespeare. The word play is interesting, yes, but it's such a staple of human and Klingon literature that it's almost background noise at this point. But Spock has alerted her to an abridged performance of _Twelfth Night_ being put on by a group of traveling actors, and it's been so long since they've been on any kind of date that she jumps at the chance to spend a few hours with her boyfriend, off the ship. Even with other members of the crew in attendance, for a while, she can fool herself into thinking that she and Spock are off-duty, just enjoying each other's company for the sake of it.

 

That illusion lasts up until the point where she realizes that three seats down, Captain Kirk is as tense as a coiled wire, his feathers puffed up, staring almost unblinkingly at the actor playing Orsino. She frowns, looking at the man, trying to see what her captain sees. Karidian is a little old to be playing this part, yes, but it's Shakespeare, not holofilms. Most actors play parts that don't quite fit, especially in a traveling troupe. There's nothing unusual in his performance either - a little overly melodramatic, but again, it's Shakespeare.

 

She waits until intermission is called to say something. "Captain, what's wrong? I don't think you've heard a word they've said."

 

Kirk looks at her sharply, then he blinks and draws a little on some kind of inner reserve, and runs a hand through his hair. "Should've known you'd notice. That guy," he says, nodding toward the stage, "I don't know for sure, but if he is who I think he is, there could be hell to pay. Can I get you to do something for me?"

 

Uhura frowns. This sounds an awful lot like work, which is what she was trying to avoid right now, but this doesn't sound like he wants to ruin her date just to be a dick. He's serious about something. "Depends on what you're asking."

 

"Voiceprint analysis," he says, which isn't what she was expecting at all. "I can get an audio clip to compare, but I need to know if it's the same guy. I'd trust you over the computer," he adds, and she can't stop the surge of pride at his respect for her hard-earned talents.

 

"Yeah, I can do that," she agrees, wondering what exactly this is going to lead to. Whoever Kirk thinks Karidian is, she gets the distinct feeling they're not old pals.

 

Kirk gets her the voice clip before the play resumes, and she puts in her earpiece to listen to it without disturbing the other patrons. It's a boring political speech of some type, the type of egotistical rambling from a leader who believes himself to be far more important than he is. She tunes out the content of the speech, focusing instead on the qualities of the voice, the pitch and tone, the natural rhythm and flow of his cadence.

 

In her other ear, she can hear those same vocal qualities in Anton Karidian, to an almost eerie degree. Whoever this pompous asshole is, Kirk's guess is right on the money, as far as she's concerned. She catches the captain's eye and nods once.

 

The captain's eyes darken, and on the stage, Karidian continues his performance, ignoring the audience entirely. "That face of his I do remember well," he intones, "yet when I saw it last, it was besmear'd as black as Vulcan in the smoke of war."

 

"Goddammit," she hears the captain mutter angrily. Before she can ask, he's standing and sidling his way out of the crowd, and a litany of unhappy grumbles mark his passage as his wings inadvertently block the view of the stage or brush against people's heads as he goes by.

 

Spock looks over at her with a very slight frown. "Nyota?" he asks in a low voice, taking care not to disrupt the play any more than the captain's departure has.

 

She just shrugs, pursing her lips. "I don't know."

 

The captain isn't gone for long. The actors are performing the final scene when he reappears at the back of the auditorium, and though from this distance she doesn't have a hope at hearing what he's saying, he's speaking into a communicator. And moments later, halfway through the final scene of the play, Karidian is beamed away.

 

Confused chaos erupts, both on the part of the acting troupe and the audience. But Kirk doesn't seem remotely surprised, his body language rigid, like he's holding onto his self-control through sheer force of will, and his wings keep twitching like they want to take off without him. "See you back on the ship," he mouths at her, knowing there isn't a chance she'll actually hear over the crowd. And then he's gone, damn him.

 

"What the hell just happened?" Uhura says out loud.

 

"I do not know," Spock replies, raising an eyebrow.

 

Upon returning to the ship, she tracks down the captain in the brig. Imprisoned in their largest cell is the actor Karidian, and though he's putting on a good show of being outraged, Uhura can see the fear underneath, and something that looks an awful lot like resignation. Relief. Like someone who has been running for far too long has finally realized that they must stop.

 

Kirk stands on the outside of the cell, wings mantled behind him, arms crossed over his chest. He strikes an imposing figure, and Uhura hesitates for a moment when she sees him. "Captain?"

 

His head moves slightly in her direction, but that's the only indication he gives that he hears her. "Anton Karidian," he says to the prisoner, "you are under arrest. Do you _really_ need me to tell you why, or can you figure it out for yourself?"

 

"I _demand_ an explanation," Karidian answers, injecting a tone of authority into his voice, a man who is used to having his wishes followed. "I have committed no crimes."

 

"Not as Karidian, no," Kirk replies, his tone so icy that it's a wonder he doesn't frost up the transparency. "But you weren't always Anton Karidian, were you? Did Section Thirty-One set you up with that identity, Kodos?"

 

The floor drops out from under her as Uhura realizes whose voice Kirk had her compare this man to, and now she understands why his behavior in the theater was so bizarre. It's understandable, after coming face to face with the man who slaughtered half a planet. And though the captain's never explicitly talked about it, what Admiral Marcus inferred on the day of the _Vengeance_ incident was more than enough for her to fill in some of the blanks.

 

Karidian stares back at Kirk evenly, unashamed. "I was a soldier in a cause. There were things to be done, terrible things."

 

"Yeah, shove it up your ass," Kirk snaps, all his feathers standing on end, reminding Uhura of a pissed-off bird of prey. "I don't care _why_ you did it. You killed four thousand people. Period."

 

"You have always impressed me, James Kirk. Little more than a boy, yet willing _and_ able to remove your own mutation to save your life," Karidian muses, and Uhura can tell that he's carefully crafting each word to hurt the captain as deeply as possible. "How many others died who did not, could not, do the same? And how selfish of you to pretend you were worthy to consume precious colony resources in place of another. Your arrogance, your drive for self-preservation, was what kept you off the kill list, Kirk. If a boy of twelve would willingly hack off his own body parts with no anesthesia, and what you did with them _after_ , I knew that one day you could be fit to join us."

 

"Shut the fuck up," Uhura says before she realizes she's chosen to speak, and she strides forward, eyes flashing angrily. "Nothing says we have to drag you back to Earth _conscious_ , just breathing. And may I remind you that your every word is being recorded, and can be used against you in a court of law." She turns toward the captain, who's blinking at her in confusion, like he'd forgotten she was there. "Come on, captain. Let's leave this asshole to rot."

 

Kirk looks back and forth between her and Karidian, and decisively turns his back on the cell. "Excellent idea, Lieutenant. Kodos, see you at the trial. Burn in hell." Side by side, they head out of the brig, ignoring the angry sputtering from the prisoner as the door slides closed between them.

 

The moment Karidian can no longer see them, Kirk stops and leans against the wall, rubbing his hands over his face. "Jesus Christ, it really is him."

 

"Are you okay?" Uhura asks. He's clearly not, and why the hell would he be? But she knows he likes to pretend, to put on a brave face for the crew, and if that's what he needs right now then that's what she'll give him.

 

He blows out all his breath in one big sigh, and forces his wings to settle against his back, though his feathers are still puffed up a bit, an unavoidable sign of how disturbed he's feeling right now. "You know, he's a mindreader. Didn't find that out until years after. But apparently he doesn't need it to know what buttons to push, because the anti-mutant field is already up and it's staying up until that murdering bastard is off my ship."

 

That's a no, she's pretty sure. "Anything I can do to help?"

 

He uncovers his face and attempts a smile. It's not really the charming look he's going for, but it's the thought that counts. "You already did. Thanks, Uhura."

 

"I almost forgot," she says, handing him the padd with Kodos's audio recording on it. "I figured you'd want this back."

 

"Not really," he says, frowning a little, but accepting it back into his keeping. "And I meant thanks for _that_ , too," he says, tilting his head in the direction of the brig. "If I had to stand there and listen to him for one more second..."

 

She reaches out to touch his arm, and he falls silent, looking at her curiously, with a hint of dread, maybe wondering if she's going to pity him now. But all she does is give him a chaste kiss on the cheek. "You're welcome, captain. You want me to tell Doctor McCoy to sedate him?"

 

He looks a little stunned, but some of the dark clouds she'd seen gathering in his eyes are gone, and his feathers have smoothed down a bit. "Don't tempt me. Much as I'd like to sic Bones on him, I'd rather give him enough rope to hang himself a dozen times."

 

Uhura just nods in total understanding. "Right there with you, sir."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was supposed to be from Kirk's point of view, with the intention of revealing a bit more about the mutantverse version of what happened on Tarsus, but then Uhura wanted a turn in the spotlight and I couldn't say no. You go, girl.


	3. Guardian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is based on TOS 1x28 City on the Edge of Forever.

Well, this is a problem.

 

Kirk and Spock land on solid ground, bright sunlight shining down on them past old-style brick buildings, not a hint of modern technology anywhere. Ancient combustion automobiles sputter past them, clunkier and boxier than the muscle car that Kirk once drove into the Riverside quarry, and he even spots a horse-drawn carriage or two.

 

There's no sign of McCoy, and Kirk can only hope that they've arrived _first_. But there's little time to consider the implications, because people are starting to stare, and it takes him a moment before he realizes why. Absolutely no one else in sight has any visible mutation.

 

"Spock, we must be before the x-gene boom," Kirk says to his first officer, and folds up his wings as tightly to his back as possible. It's a futile effort; even like this, his flight feathers stretch nearly to his knees, and it's difficult to mistake his wings for anything else, not even a weirdly feathered cloak. Spock may not have the same problem, but his pointed ears are impossible to overlook too. "We've got to find local clothes and disguise ourselves."

 

"Hey, you there!" The shout comes from a man in an old-style uniform, and Kirk realizes after a beat that he's some kind of law enforcement officer. Great. Centuries in the past, and Jim Kirk is _still_ having run-ins with the law.

 

He puts on his best charming grin, putting his back to the nearest wall, and hopes that the officer somehow hasn't noticed. It's a long shot, even for him. "What seems to be the problem, officer?"

 

The policeman eyes the two of them suspiciously, his gaze returning to Spock's ears every now and then, and his hand reaches down to some kind of bludgeoning tool attached to his belt. He doesn't draw it yet, thank goodness. "You boys aren't from around here."

 

"Nope, we're just passing through," Kirk says brightly. _Please just go away. We really don't need this right now. If Bones shows up..._ He flicks his gaze towards Spock, silently asking him to do something. His first officer is great at logicking his way out of stuff like this.

 

Spock looks a little bewildered, but he looks at the officer and says, "Sir, please do not panic, but there is a multi-legged creature crawling on your shoulder." Then he reaches out and nerve-pinches the guy, pretty as you please.

 

Kirk can't resist a delighted grin, even as they quickly manhandle the unconscious policeman into the alley. "Spock, that was positively spontaneous of you."

 

Spock merely raises an eyebrow. "Thank you, captain. We should retreat with haste. There will be witnesses."

 

"Yep, right there with you," Kirk agrees. He glances around for any clues of where to go, and spots something encouraging. High above their heads, stretched between the two brick buildings, is an old-fashioned clothesline draped with someone's laundry. "Be right back," he says, scrambling up the fire escape, the alleyway far too narrow for him to simply fly up and take what they need.

 

It takes mere minutes to obtain what they need, and Kirk tosses the items down to his waiting first officer. "Captain, is this not considered stealing?" Spock asks, but even as he objects, he's already pulling a knit cap over his head, tucking the points of his ears underneath.

 

Kirk drops off the fire escape, unfolding his wings just enough to slow his descent, and throws a long coat over his shoulders upon landing. It's not perfect, of course - his wings are far too bulky to hide entirely, so he's sure it looks like he has some kind of unfortunate deformity or something - but there's little other option available. The rest of the clothes will have to wait until they have a safe place to change, and he helps Spock gather them up. "Yeah, it is, but we don't have much choice. Come on, let's find somewhere safe to hide out and ditch our uniforms."

 

"Agreed."

 

It's a bit tricky, trying to decide which buildings are apartment blocks and which ones are businesses, the architecture fairly unfamiliar to both of them. But after several minutes of searching, they find a series of steps leading down to a basement access door under some kind of public building. The door's unlocked, and no one is inside. "I think we're clear," Kirk says, listening for any sounds of habitation. There are other people in the building, moving around upstairs, but no one is running their way.

 

They both keep their boots, of course, but the rest of their uniforms have to go. They're made of modern materials, nothing that Earth would have access to in this day and age, and they're already having enough of an impact on the timeline just by _being_ here. Kirk seems to recall hearing about isolated cases of the x-gene cropping up in humanity before the 1980s, when the mutant population truly started to explode, but it's clear just from looking around that it's not common knowledge during this time.

 

He's just finished cutting holes in the flannel shirt for his wings when he hears footsteps approaching. "Spock," he hisses in warning, stashing his boot knife back in its sheath and grabbing the coat again. He's not done, dammit, but they have company.

 

Spock, at least, looks human and contemporary enough to take point, moving toward the stairs in an attempt to distract the newcomer long enough for Kirk to conceal his mutation. At least, that's the hope.

 

Kirk struggles with the coat, accidentally pulling out a cover feather or two in his haste to get his wings hidden. And as he turns, he meets the eyes of the young lady on the stairs, staring at him with wide brown eyes. "Who are you?" she asks.

 

Oh fuck. He can only hope that she didn't see, that she's not about to call the police, and he lifts his hands a little, trying to look reassuring. "I'm Jim Kirk, and this is Spock. Sorry for trespassing, but it's cold outside."

 

She gives him a look that politely says she doesn't believe a word of that bullshit, and there's a strange tinge of awe to her expression. "It isn't that cold yet. It's all right. You're among friends here. I'm Edith Keeler."

 

Friends? Kirk smiles at her, trying to hide his worry at what _that_ could possibly mean.

 

"We have only just met," Spock interjects, a little puzzled.

 

"This is the Twenty-First Street Mission," she says, as if that explains everything. "My life's work. It does not matter to me who you are or what you've done to end up on the streets, but if you expect to take advantage of my hospitality, I do expect that you leave it at the door. All are welcome." Her gaze flicks to the floor at Kirk's feet, and he glances down to see a feather resting on the concrete next to his boot.

 

His head snaps up, afraid that she's going to call him out. But instead she just looks back at him calmly, kindly. Well, he's not going to throw away her generosity. "Thank you, Edith. We're... new in town."

 

Spock leans toward him, dropping his voice so that she won't overhear. "Captain, if we are to ascertain the exact change in the timeline that is to be averted, I will need to construct a mnemonic memory circuit using local materials. A source of currency will be required, as will shelter and nourishment."

 

He nods, and looks back up at Edith. "What kind of hospitality is this? We don't have any money, I'm afraid."

 

She gives him a strange look, like she's unsure why he doesn't know this. "A warm bed at night, and the kitchen serves soup twice a day. The only price is a willingness to listen, and follow the rules. But if you are looking for work, I could use a little help around the place. Doing dishes, sweeping, general cleaning. I can pay you fifteen cents an hour, at ten hours a day."

 

That's as good of an offer as they're going to get, and he leaps at the chance. "We'd be happy to help. Thank you."

 

She smiles and nods slightly. "You can start by sweeping up down here," she says, and pointedly doesn't look at the feather on the floor again. "There's a broom and dustpan in the closet up the stairs, to the left. Come find me when you are done, and I'll give you your next task." Then she retreats up the stairs, high heels clicking as she goes.

 

Spock turns a confused look on him the moment she's out of earshot. "Captain, there is little chance she did not see you before you were adequately covered. Yet she did not draw attention to your mutation."

 

"Yeah, I noticed that too," Kirk agrees, shucking off the coat so he can finish dressing properly. "She said we are among friends... you don't suppose she's a mutant, do you?"

 

"Unlikely, but possible. The proliferation of the x-gene in this time period was extremely low. However, is it not true that during the early stages, many mutants were seen as outcast due to their differences? It is possible that if this is indeed a shelter for those without proper homes, that some of her patrons may be mutants themselves."

 

"Could be." It's too much to hope that he won't have to hide himself here - far too risky, since someone else might walk in and see - but keeping this blasted coat on all the time is going to be uncomfortable at best. The alternative, however, is to get rid of his wings entirely, and that's obviously out of the question. If he's a little hot, then so be it. "Guess we'd better start earning our keep, Spock. Oh, and stop with the 'captain.' It's gonna look weird."

 

Spock looks slightly discomfited, but simply nods. "Yes, Jim. Blending in with the locals is logical in this situation."

 

The next few days are strange, but nice. Kirk and Spock both do odd jobs around the mission, Spock starts building some insane gizmo in their assigned room upstairs, and Kirk considers the puzzle that is Edith Keeler. On more than one occasion, he catches her looking at him with a contemplative look on her face, and each time she notices him looking back, she simply smiles and turns away.

 

And then there are the speeches. Every time the meal is served, Edith takes the stage and speaks to the room at large, and Kirk never expected to hear such prophetic words in this day and age. She speaks of the unification of humanity, the push to explore and test the boundaries of the possible, the desire to seek out what might be out amongst the stars. It's fascinating, and more than once, Kirk catches himself forgetting that they're not meant to be interfering with the timeline.

 

He hadn't considered her as his type, not the kind of hot babe he'd take back to his place for a one-night stand, back in his misspent youth. He's never known what it was like to actually fall in _love_ with someone for their personality, not just their stunning good looks, and Edith has both in spades. She's unlike anyone he'd ever thought to meet in this time, and he has to stop himself from wondering _what if?_

 

Then comes the day where Spock's gadget is complete enough to give the tricorder readings a look, and Kirk gets a sick twisting feeling in his gut as his first officer announces that to preserve the timeline, Edith Keeler has to die.

 

"You're _sure_?" he asks, eyes closed, already knowing the answer.

 

"Yes," Spock says simply. "I am sorry, Jim."

 

Well, fuck. It's a horrible truth to face. And every time he looks at her now, he can't help thinking about it. If she's going to die soon... why not make her last days the best he can? He's almost surprised with himself that the idea of sleeping with her doesn't even cross his mind.

 

"Let's go out tonight," Kirk suggests, after her daily soup spiel is over, and she comes to make sure he's had his fill. "Just you and me. You're here all the time; don't you deserve some time for yourself?"

 

She smiles at him, and puts her soft hand on his. "I'd like that, Jim. There's a new film showing at the cinema, Clark Gable's newest."

 

He doesn't have a clue what half of that means, but he smiles back at her. "Sounds great."

 

"I have to do something before we go," she says, gaze drawn to the stairs that lead to the upper floor, and Kirk can tell by now that she must have a patron who needs some kind of special care. He'd seen her with this era's primitive medical kit earlier, but no emergency services were called, so it must not be that bad. "I'll meet you down here in ten minutes."

 

"Sure thing," he agrees, and on impulse he lifts her hand to his lips and kisses it. She blushes, and pulls away, heading upstairs.

 

He takes the opportunity to shift his wings a bit. The muscles have been cramping up lately, unused to being constantly confined, and there's an itch that he can't scratch, the growing need to take to the sky. But it's too dangerous, and he has to tamp it down, contenting himself with letting himself stretch out before bed each night, one wing at a time. If Spock is annoyed by his nightly ritual taking up so much space in their small room, he hasn't said so.

 

Kirk composes himself as he hears Edith returning, and takes her hand in his as they walk out the door. "You're an amazing woman, you know that?"

 

She smiles demurely, leaning into his side slightly as they walk. "I do what I do because no one else is. But they will, one day."

 

"Yes, they will." He can't stop himself from agreeing, _knowing_ that she's right, and knowing that she'll never live to see it. His smile fades a little as he reminds himself that this can't last.

 

She frowns, and turns to face him, placing her free hand on his chest. "What is it? Whatever it is, let me help."

 

He knows he can't answer that, and he flounders a bit, unable to think of any decent excuse to give. Edith's hand slides from his chest to his arm, her warm brown eyes full of concern. "Are you in some kind of trouble? I know there are... uncommon men out in the world today, and not everyone thinks the best of them."

 

For a moment, Kirk thinks about deflecting, trying to charm her away from the topic. But it's clear that she's a lot more observant than he'd given her credit for, and it's obvious she isn't talking about anything as mundane as personality. No, she really did see his wings that day they met. "Yes," he says instead, taking the opportunity and trying to think of a way to turn it to his advantage, to use her sympathy to help craft a decent excuse. And besides... nothing he's about to tell her is actually a lie. "I've been... persecuted, for what I am. Forced to hide it. There aren't many people like me around, are there?"

 

"No," she agrees, and there's no pity in her eyes, just understanding and trust, and he wonders if this is what love looks like. "Not many. I have known such men to pass through, usually not staying for long. Would you like to meet one? There's a newcomer at the mission, like you. He's not been well and I think it might do him some good to know he isn't alone."

 

Another mutant, a sick one, just recently arrived? Kirk's instincts sit up and take notice, and he turns an intense look on her, his growing feelings for her forgotten. "Another like me? What's his name? Does he have gills on his neck, here?" he asks, tracing the sides of his own neck, right where McCoy's mutation makes itself apparent.

 

Edith's eyes are wide in surprise. "Why, yes. How did you know what Leonard...?"

 

 _Leonard_. Just like that, after a week of waiting, McCoy has all but fallen into his lap and they never _noticed_. Kirk grabs her arms and looks her straight in the eye. "Stay right here. I'll be back." Then he turns and _runs_ , sprinting back across the street toward the mission.

 

The door opens before he gets there, and a familiar figure in Starfleet science blues emerges. McCoy looks pale and drawn, his clothes rumpled, and his gills are red from lack of adequate hydration. But his eyes are clear and lucid, and he starts in surprise when he realizes who is running towards him. "Jim!"

 

Kirk wraps his arms around McCoy, hugging him for all he's worth, and only belatedly hopes that he hasn't just flashed his wings to everyone on the street in his mad dash back to the mission. "Bones, don't you ever fucking scare me like that again!"

 

But even as he speaks, McCoy's gaze travels past him and his eyes widen in alarm, struggling to pull away. "Miss Keeler!"

 

There's a squeal of brakes, and Kirk's heart stops for a moment as he realizes what is happening. _Too soon..._ He can't look, just holds tighter to the doctor, keeping him from dashing out into the street. There's a woman's scream, and a sick thud of metal meeting flesh, and Kirk can't turn around.

 

The door to the mission creaks open again, and Spock emerges, taking in the scene at a glance. Even he looks a little surprised at what he's walked out into.

 

"I could've saved her," McCoy whispers in disbelief. "Goddammit Jim, I could've saved her! Why didn't you let me go?"

 

"Because he could not," Spock says steadily, but those all-too-human eyes of his are full of sympathy. "To preserve our future, he could not allow it."

 

Kirk closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, they're standing on the deserted planet again. Their stolen civilian clothes are gone, replaced with the same shipboard uniforms they left in, and the irregular ring of the Guardian of Forever hums and lights up. "Time has resumed its shape," the timeless entity declares. "All is as it was before. Many such journeys are possible. Let me be your gateway."

 

The captain can't bring himself to turn and face the awful thing, clenching his fists, and his feathers stand on end at the force of his anger and grief. "Let's get the fuck out of here," he grits out between clenched teeth, avoiding eye contact with anyone else. Even without looking, he knows that they're trading glances with each other, the landing party baffled about his sudden dark mood, Spock and McCoy knowing all too well. He doesn't say a word after beaming up, retreating to the observation deck to look out into the blackness in solitude, mourning what might have been.


	4. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized that many of the episodes I plan to cover are either depressing or angsty, so here's a more lighthearted, "between missions" chapter. Episodes referenced include TOS 2x02 Who Mourns for Adonais?, 2x17 A Piece of the Action, 2x18 The Immunity Syndrome, and 2x21 Patterns of Force.

As it turns out, space is really big.

 

Despite the advances made to warp drive over the centuries since its invention, intergalactic travel still takes time. A hell of a _lot_ of time, sometimes, depending on how far you're going. As the _Enterprise_ 's first continuous year in space comes to an end, it's often days or even weeks before she enters orbit around a new planet, or docks with a starbase out in the far reaches of the galaxy.

 

Fortunately Starfleet, in its infinite wisdom, knows full well that human crews in particular tend to get bored easily without proper entertainment, and the recreation facilities onboard are second to none. The _Enterprise_ is equipped with all the latest high-tech games, an actual honest-to-God bowling alley, and of course a swimming pool.

 

"You do realize," Scott grumbles to McCoy on several occasions, "just how daft it is to have a large, unrestrained, open body of water on a _spaceship_ , right?"

 

The doctor glares at him from under the surface of the water, and pokes his head into the air long enough to reply. "Yeah, but if you think I'm spending five years out here with nothing but the occasional water shower to keep me company, you're out of your goddamned mind." Then he sinks back down to the bottom of the pool, where he's prepared to spend at least the next hour getting much-needed exercise where no one can bother him too much.

 

Scotty stalks off muttering about artificial gravity and dedicated backup generators, and spends the next month redesigning the pool drains so that it can be emptied of its contents in five seconds flat. Just in case.

 

No one's certain who starts the tradition of live music on Thursdays, but every week, crewmen with various instruments gather to show off their skills and perform for their peers. Uhura quickly becomes a regular sight, accompanying the instrumentals with her voice, and she even convinces Spock to occasionally lend his hand at the Vulcan lyre. Chekov is often eager to bring his khromka to the table, although most of what he knows how to play is twenty-second century Russian polkas. It's not most people's favorite, but his enthusiasm is literally, empathically contagious, so no one really minds. Scott's attempt at sharing bagpipe music with the crew doesn't go over nearly as well, so he tends to bribe everyone with contraband instead.

 

The captain makes a concerted effort to pretend that he doesn't know about the still, hidden away in one of the lesser-used Jefferies tubes down in engineering. Mostly because if he acknowledges it, Spock will surely notice and quote some kind of regulation to shut it down, and moonshine is totally good for crew morale. As long as they aren't going to go on shift hungover, anyway.

 

Scott figures the jig is up when he reports to engineering and sees Spock examining a glass that someone must have left out. But Spock just looks at him and says, "Mister Scott, I must advise you that storing industrial degreasers in drinking vessels is a dangerous practice. Please see to it that such a mix-up cannot occur again."

 

Scott's not stupid. He knows damn well that Spock wasn't fooled for a second. So he relocates the still, and lectures everyone on the importance of proper handling of "industrial chemicals." And Spock never says another word about it.

 

Down in the science labs, Sulu claims a corner of the grow room for his own. A hand-painted sign declares his corner as the Botany Bay, and within two months, it's grown into a small jungle. Chekov is astonished the first time he pays it a visit, gaping at the vines that have crawled up the walls and wrapped around the overhead lights. "Hikaru, you did this?"

 

Sulu strokes the broad leaves of one of the plants, and it turns toward his hand, nuzzling it like a puppy. "Sure. I gotta have hobbies, right?"

 

"It is wery impressive," Chekov says. He reaches out to touch the plant too, but it actually _hisses_ at him, and he narrowly avoids a vine snapping at his hand like the crack of a whip. "Bozhe moi!"

 

"Sorry," Sulu says with an apologetic smile. "Gertrude's kind of attached to me. Let me introduce you to Belinda. She likes everyone."

 

Belinda does, indeed, like everyone. Perhaps a little too much. Sulu is determined never to introduce her to the captain. Just imagining having to write that in his experiment logs is a nightmare in itself, never mind the life-long mental scarring it's sure to give everyone.

 

Which is fine, because Kirk and Spock spend at least three nights a week playing a very intense game of chess. Despite eventually graduating to the more challenging three-dimensional version of the game, Kirk plays illogically enough that he manages to put Spock in checkmate, or at least stalemate, about thirty percent of the time, much to the delight of the ship's betting pool. Which the captain is _also_ not supposed to know about.

 

A fact that Kirk ignores quite liberally when it suits him. He splits the winnings with Keenser more than once.

 

His favorite type of bet to win, of course, is just how many times a month Starfleet Command calls them up to ask for clarification on their mission reports. Kirk can't really blame them. This shit is _weird as fuck_ sometimes, and if he had to read reports that included lines such as "The _Enterprise_ was kidnapped by the Greek god Apollo," "Turns out Ekos is ruled by actual honest-to-God Nazis," or on one memorable occasion, "Today we fought a giant space amoeba," he'd be calling bullshit on it too.

 

Fortunately, these days, his tall tales are backed up by several hundred witnesses, and after his entire command crew vouches for the ridiculous truth that yes, the Federation really is the official mob boss of Iota's new syndicate of 1920s gangsters and they'll need to come back every year for their cut, Starfleet just sort of gives up trying to make logical sense out of all this, which is probably for the best, really. And if a strange new card game called Fizzbin starts making the rounds of the 'fleet, no one ever really questions why the rules vary so much. "It was the  _Enterprise_ " is usually reason enough.


	5. Mirror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is based on TOS 2x04 Mirror, Mirror.

The moment Kirk materializes in the transporter room, he is painfully aware that something is very wrong.

 

His wings weigh strangely heavy on his back, and a similar weight settles into his stomach as a bearded Spock salutes him impassively behind the transporter console. Almost against his will, Kirk's attention is drawn to a strange symbol emblazoned on the wall behind him - a sword, thrust through the planet Earth. It wasn't there two hours ago.

 

But then, neither did Spock have a beard, and Kirk's pretty sure that Vulcans don't need to shave _that_ frequently.

 

"Captain?" McCoy whispers at his side, and Kirk glances over, somewhat relieved to see that at least the entire landing party is present, but everyone is dressed differently. Strange medals and decorations on their uniform shirts, daggers on every belt, and Uhura is wearing a... collar? It takes all his self-control not to physically recoil at such a blatant symbol of ownership on his communications chief.

 

The crewman standing with Spock is wearing a similar collar, and Kirk recognizes him as Lieutenant Kyle, a carrier from engineering. He's not wearing rank stripes. There's a sick feeling in his gut as he mulls over the implications of _that_. _Where the hell are we?_

 

"Status of mission, captain?" the bearded Spock asks, and even his voice is different. Like every trace of his half-human side has been erased from his mannerisms, leaving only cold Vulcan logic behind.

 

_Play along. There's no telling what will happen if they realize we're not who they think we are._ Kirk forces his voice to remain steady as he replies. "No change," he says, and hopes that the Halkan's response to the dilithium mining proposal is indeed the same in this... universe?

 

Of course. Just like Ambassador Spock came from a parallel reality, somehow the landing party has crossed over to yet another. He forces down a jolt of fear at the thought that they, too, might be trapped in a universe not their own. _Focus. We have to deal with the present situation first._

 

Spock nods once. "Standard procedure, then?" he asks, and at Kirk's nod, he contacts the bridge. "Mister Sulu, program phaser barrage on Halkan's major cities."

 

Oh _shit_. Any glimmer of hope that he'd had about being able to talk their way to mutual understanding goes out the airlock in a single moment, and his horror deepens as Spock turns to the crewman at his side, who shrinks away from the Vulcan's icy gaze. " _Kafeh_ Ne-Kyle, you were instructed to compensate during the ion storm. Carelessness with the equipment cannot be tolerated." Without another word, Spock takes a device from his sash, points it at the tech, and presses a button. Kyle's collar immediately flashes with red light, and he collapses in agony, mouth gaping in silent screams.

 

Kirk isn't aware that he's physically bristling at the sight of his crew assaulting each other - no, not _his_ crew, never like _this_ \- until he feels a touch on his arm. "Jim, your wings," McCoy whispers in his ear.

 

He makes a conscious effort to fold them against his back, and feels metal shifting strangely amongst the feathers, but he can't spare a look because the bearded Spock has finished torturing poor Kyle and now turns his attention back to the landing party. "Captain Abru-Tiberius, there was an energy surge during transmat," he says calmly, as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened. "Possibly as a result of the ion storm. Do you feel any abnormal effects?"

 

Fuck yes, he does, and what an excellent excuse he's just been given. "Yes, actually," he says, channeling that sick feeling into something that at least looks like annoyance. "Doctor McCoy had better look us over. That was a rough beam-up."

 

Thank fuck that McCoy knows him so well, because there's no argument from the doctor. "Yes, sir."

 

Hoping that Sickbay is still in the same place on bizarro _Enterprise_ , Kirk leads the way out of the transporter room, and throws one last order over his shoulder. "Mister Spock, have those transporter circuits checked." He doesn't wait to see if his command is followed. He's pretty sure he knows the answer, given the type of discipline this ship apparently employs.

 

"Captain _Tiberius_?" Scott hisses the moment the door slide shut.

 

"Not here," Kirk says, quickly shaking his head. The corridors aren't clear, and when crewmen see them passing, they stop and give the same strange salute that Spock and Kyle gave them upon materializing. He doesn't recognize all of them, but the ones that he does... every carrier is wearing the same sick collar that Uhura and Kyle have attached to their necks. And not a single one is wearing a gold sash, which Kirk has noticed on every department head he's seen so far, except Uhura. Nor do they appear to have any kind of rank insignia he recognizes.

 

Sickbay is indeed in the same place as before, staffed by two nurses, who look startled and salute at the captain's entry. "Get out," Kirk orders them gruffly, taking a gamble on his counterpart's likely behavior, given the clues he's seen so far. True enough, the nurses waste no time, simply nodding and disappearing from the medical bay on the double.

 

McCoy orders the computer to lock the doors and turns to face the landing party, aghast. "Where the hell are we?" he demands.

 

Finally given the chance, Kirk looks them all over carefully. Scott is understandably wide-eyed and tense, and there's a pair of devices attached to the sides of his head with some kind of circuitry symbol on them, each about the size of a coin. McCoy's gills are lined with some kind of silver paint that makes them blatantly stand out against his neck. Uhura's uniform lacks rank stripes and reveals more than it hides, and aside from her collar, she doesn't appear to have any other decorations like the others.

 

Which leaves him with himself. He shakes out his wings and looks over his shoulder, finally seeing why their weight is so strange. Folded amongst his primaries, surgically implanted into the flesh under his feathers, are a series of blades. Forged to resemble his largest flight feathers, their edges look razor-sharp, deadly weapons hidden on his back. And every single real feather he has is hand-painted with gold on the edges. "What the fuck," he blurts out loud.

 

"My thoughts exactly," Uhura agrees, her hand at her throat, trying to find the catch to her collar. There doesn't seem to be one. "Another alternate reality?"

 

Nobody ever said his crew was slow on the uptake. Kirk nods, taking extra care as he folds up his wings, paranoid that one wrong twitch will result in plunging those feather-knives into himself. "It's gotta be. Must have happened during the beam-up somehow. Scotty, _please_ tell me you can fix this."

 

"Jesus, cap'n, I don't even know what went _wrong_ yet," Scott protests. "I'll need time to figure it out, and probably help to do whatever needs done to fix it. I dinnae want to spend another second here than we have to."

 

"Me either," Kirk agrees, his gut rolling sickeningly as he remembers the bearded Spock's orders to the bridge. "But we'll have to keep up appearances if we want to go home in one piece. Uhura, I want you to access the ship's data archives. Find out whatever you can about our own personal histories here. We'll need anything you can get us about our psych profiles, especially. If anyone tries to stop you, you're on special direct orders from the captain." The last thing he wants is for someone to activate her collar next. Just the thought of it makes him want to puke. "Bones, you work with her. She'll probably need your medical clearance code for some of it. Scotty, you get working on the transporter problem."

 

"And just where are you going to be?" McCoy asks.

 

Kirk takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "I'll be on the bridge. It'll look suspicious if I'm doing anything else."

 

McCoy grabs his arm. "You mean you're going to wipe out the Halkans. I heard what Spock said. Jim, you can't."

 

"I know." But he doesn't see any other way out. There was no real loyalty in the eyes of any crewman he's seen so far, not even Spock. If he behaves out of character... well, it's just as terrible of a thought as what he's going to have to do. He shakes himself free of McCoy's grip, and turns to exit Sickbay. "The intercom's probably being monitored. Use your communicators for personal messages and put them on scramble six. Let's get this done as quickly as possible."

 

The bridge of this parallel _Enterprise_ is hauntingly similar to his own, with some major differences. The impaled planet sigil is emblazoned everywhere, armed security officers stand vigilant on either side of the turbolift, and Sulu's station at the helm is covered in thorny vines, growing directly out of the console. The helmsman himself is dressed in a red shirt, not command gold, and when he turns to salute the captain, Kirk can see a vicious scar that runs down the entire length of the right side of his face, its edges tattooed to mimic the same thorny vines he's sitting amongst. Chekov isn't even here, his station manned by a lieutenant Kirk doesn't recognize, whose skimpy outfit is accentuated by her scaly green skin.

 

He moves to sit down in the command chair, and hesitates a moment. Even the chair is different. Instead of the convenient low-slung backrest of his own, this one is tall and narrow like a throne, with gaps on the sides. As he sits, his wings fit into those gaps as long as he holds them half-open, mantled behind him, spreading his primary feathers and revealing the blades among them. It looks intimidating as _fuck_ , like an eagle protecting its kill, and that tells him more than he probably wants to know about the Jim Kirk of this world - no, _Tiberius_ , apparently.

 

"Status report," he barks out, pushing down his anxiety and trying to channel every arrogant bastard of a warlord he's ever met.

 

"All systems check out, sir," the scaly mutant reports. "No storm damage."

 

"Phasers are locked on target A," Sulu says, turning back to his station. "Approaching optimum range. Commence firing, captain?"

 

Fuck. He thought he could do this. But sitting in this chair, looking down at the planet and knowing that it will die at his word... it's impossible. But he can read the room. And at the first sign of weakness, the entire landing party is doomed. "You know what to do, mister," Kirk snaps, part of him wishing that not giving a direct order would make it easier.

 

It doesn't.

 

The ship's phasers flare, raking the surface of the planet below, and Kirk closes his eyes. It doesn't help either.

 

There's an air current at his elbow that tells him someone's moving closer, and his eyes snap open as he turns, ready to face whatever threat is sidling up to him. It's the bearded Spock, regarding him with icy Vulcan calm. "Systems check of the transporter is complete, captain. All circuits are in normal operation limits."

 

Kirk risks a reply, even as his stomach rolls with nausea. "Thank you, Mister Spock. Return to your duties."

 

The Vulcan steps away, but there's a contemplative look on his face that Kirk really doesn't like. The captain stands, keeping his wings flared, trying to project an image of someone who shouldn't be messed with. "You know your orders. Carry on." If he has to stay on this bridge one more minute, he's going to hurl. Apparently Sulu has somewhere else to be, because he follows the captain into the turbolift, steadfastly refusing to look at him.

 

He barely makes it out of the turbolift before he senses a shift in the air, and manages to turn to the side just as a sword swipes down where he'd been standing. He lashes out with a wing, only remembering at the last moment to only strike with the leading edge, his feather-blades whistling through the air ominously. He's slightly shocked to see that his assailant is Sulu, deftly evading his strike and pressing his attack, the tip of his sword drawing blood as it rakes across Kirk's chest. "Your seat will be mine, _captain_ ," he hisses.

 

God, all he's missing is a mustache to twirl. It's surreal and absurd. Kirk doesn't want to hurt anyone else, not after what happened up on the bridge, but his wings weigh heavily on his back, unfamiliar in their balance. His heart clenches as he hears the turbolift hiss open again, and phaser fire erupts in the corridor.

 

Sulu falls to the deck, stunned, and Kirk whirls around to face the new threats. Three men, wearing gold insignia that look exactly like his feather blades. They snap to attention under his gaze. "Sir, I apologize for our lateness," one of them says, head bowed. "I take full responsibility for allowing you to be wounded."

 

_These must be my men,_ Kirk realizes. _Personal guards?_ "It's minor," he says on autopilot, mind racing as he tries to figure out what the correct response here is. "Take Sulu into custody."

 

The men look confused, but hurry to follow his commands, dragging Sulu's limp form to his feet without much care for his comfort. "The booth, sir?"

 

He doesn't like the sound of that. But what choice does he have? "Yes. Carry on."

 

Kirk makes it to his quarters before he finally loses his battle with nausea, emptying his stomach into the recycler. He doesn't hear the door slide open, but he jumps when he senses someone else in the room, and his wings flare defensively, threateningly, their embedded blades gleaming dangerously in the light of his cabin.

 

"Jesus, Jim, it's just me," McCoy says, sounding startled. "You all right?"

 

"Fuck no," Kirk groans, wings drooping as he goes back for round two of breakfast revisited. "This place is so _fucked_ , Bones. Sulu just tried to assassinate me so he could be captain. And I had to sit there and watch as they-"

 

"God, Jim, I don't need to hear about it," McCoy says, sounding sick himself. "Reading your - Tiberius's - file was enough for me. He got command by assassinating Christopher Pike during Nero's assault on Vulcan, using him as bait. First mission he led was destroying an uprising on Gorlan Six that was protesting the Terran Empire, killing millions. They're all cold-hearted sons of bitches here, the worst tyrants I've ever heard of. Makes me wonder what our counterparts are up to on our _Enterprise_."

 

Kirk shudders at the thought, his blade-feathers rattling from the force of it. "God, I hope Spock is on his game today. We need to get back before it's too late."

 

"Right there with you, Jim," McCoy agrees fervently.

 

In the end, it's a close call. Scott and McCoy rig the transporter to activate remotely, and just as they are dematerializing, the doors to the transporter room whoosh open and armed men start to rush inside. Then the sight fades, replaced by the familiar view of their own transporter room, manned by a clean-shaven Spock and guarded by a handful of security guards in familiar red uniforms.

 

Kirk snaps his wings open, reassured that they feel so light, free of the abominations his counterpart implanted in himself. He turns to see the rest of the landing party, similarly free of their adornments, and Uhura reaches up to touch her throat, visibly relieved at finding the collar gone. Kirk turns back toward Spock. "Please tell me they didn't kill anyone."

 

"They did not," Spock says, a flicker of relief in his eyes. "It was immediately apparent that they were not our landing party. Your counterparts became rather hysterical at assuming your physical appearances. They were quite uncommunicative regarding the details of the differences, but I gather they were significant."

 

"Aye, you could say that," Scott says, stepping off the transporter pad.

 

"New rule," Kirk says, folding his wings against his back and striding off toward the bridge. "No one beams anywhere during an ion storm ever again. We'll send down shuttles if we've gotta get off planet right away. Submit a full report to Starfleet and tell Admiral Pike that we need a new regulation or something so this won't happen to anyone else. The last thing we need is a chance for those fuckers to run loose in our universe."

 

"I'll write up the report myself," Uhura promises. She's clearly shaken by her experience in the alternate universe, and Kirk can't blame her. To be in a world where you are seen as lesser just because you aren't a mutant, little more than a slave... it should be disturbing to anyone, really. But she's also a Starfleet officer, and she's always been talented at setting aside her personal feelings until the mission is over.

 

"Thank you, Uhura." He smiles faintly at her. "I really appreciate you, you know. The _Enterprise_ wouldn't be the same without your talents on the bridge."

 

She gives him a funny look, like she's not sure quite what he's referring to besides the obvious, but appreciative nonetheless. "Thank you, captain. I'm glad you're not a psychotic despot either."

 

"Me too, Lieutenant. God, you have _no_ idea."


	6. Mystery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is based on TOS 1x15 Shore Leave.

God, he is so tired.

 

It's been weeks without a break, every shift blurring together. He wakes up, eats breakfast, comes to the bridge and stares out the viewscreen for six hours until lunch, then comes back to do it all again until his shift is over. Then it's off to catch up on paperwork, maybe squeeze in a chess game with Spock, and then he hits the rack and starts the cycle all over again. It's tedious, tiresome, and Kirk is just about sick to death of it.

 

Even on a ship as large as the _Enterprise_ , there isn't really anywhere big enough for him to properly exercise his wings. Well, not unless he wanted to try flying through engineering, but captain or not, Scott will have his head if he does that.

 

Kirk blinks blearily at the planet serenely spinning below the ship. It looks fairly normal, as far as planets go. Earth-like, that is. Water, plants, oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere, yadda yadda. He can't even really bring himself to be excited about a new planet to explore. It's probably secretly made of acid and full of vicious animals or something. Well, McCoy and Sulu are down on the surface with the rest of the landing party, so at least he can trust their judgment on whatever's down there.

 

He sits up and stretches, shoulders clicking disturbingly, and he accidentally brushes a wing against Uhura's back. Abruptly aware that he's taking up a good portion of everyone's personal space on the bridge, he quickly tucks his wings back and shoots an apologetic look toward the communications chief. She rolls her eyes at him, but turns back to her work.

 

"Captain," Spock says in a low voice, startling Kirk a bit, who hadn't realized his first officer was right there at his elbow. "Are you all right?"

 

"Just tired, Spock," Kirk says, flashing him his patented charming grin. At this point he's so practiced at it, he could do it in his sleep. "Waiting for the bad news, you know?"

 

Spock raises an eyebrow at him. "Bad news? Reports from the surface so far indicate the planet is peaceful. No animal life, no ruins or signs of technology, only the serenity of nature."

 

"Sure, that's how it always starts," Kirk replies, as reasonably as he can. "Stuff like this is too good to be true though, isn't it? There's gonna be some secret underground society or something to make everything all weird."

 

Spock looks thoroughly skeptical. "Your sense of caution is... commendable, but excessive."

 

Before he can go further, Uhura alerts him to a transmission from the planet, and McCoy's voice comes over the ship's speakers. " _So, uh, you're not gonna believe this but Sulu and I both just saw a rabbit._ "

 

Kirk pauses, his tired brain taking a second to process that. "So... what? We were wrong about no animals?"

 

" _Uh... yeah. Bit more than that, Jim._ " There's a bizarre tone to McCoy's voice that Kirk hasn't heard before, like he's questioning his own sanity. " _The rabbit was wearing a vest with a gold pocketwatch and he was muttering about how he was late. And then a young blond girl chased him into the bushes._ "

 

Kirk frowns suspiciously. Either the atmosphere has some kind of hallucinogen in it, or McCoy is pulling a weirdly unprofessional prank. Or he's telling the truth, but what the fuck. "Bullshit. Let me talk to Sulu."

 

McCoy's voice fades a bit as he pulls away from the communicator's internal microphone. " _He wants to talk to_ you _,_ " the doctor says snarkily, and Kirk can all but _hear_ him rolling his eyes.

 

" _Sulu here, sir. Doctor McCoy's telling the truth._ " His helmsman sounds just as bewildered as McCoy did. " _I think you'd better come down here, sir. Something's really strange about this whole thing._ "

 

Kirk frowns and looks over at Spock, silently asking for his opinion. His first officer looks thoughtful. "Doctor McCoy and Lieutenant Sulu are unlikely to share the same hallucination, nor are their personalities typical of those found in humans who enjoy playing pranks on one another. It seems your suspicion of the planet was correct in some aspect, captain."

 

Hey, at least it's something to break up the monotony. Kirk can already feel his fatigue evaporating at the prospect of a mystery to solve, and God he hopes this isn't some kind of weird-ass plot to lure him down to the planet for... well, he doesn't even know what, but you never know. "Well then," he says, getting to his feet. "Looks like I'm beaming down. Spock, keep my chair warm."

 

Spock has long since given up expecting that the captain will hand over the conn the way regulation dictates, so he simply nods in assent. "I shall anticipate your safe return, captain."

 

Despite the bizarre mystery awaiting his attention, he stays still for a few moments after materialization, wings instinctively rising to catch the wind ruffling through his feathers. It's sunny and peaceful, and there's a blue sky beckoning him, calling him to the air. It's a difficult call to resist.

 

But he reluctantly turns away, pulling on the mantle of the Captain, as he looks around for his crewmen. There's a flash of blue and gold off to one side, and Kirk heads in that direction. McCoy and Sulu are looking down at something on the ground, and as he gets closer, he sees what looks for all the world like massive rabbit tracks laid down in the dirt. He tilts his head to the side. "Son of a bitch."

 

"I'll say," McCoy agrees, and points to another set of tracks he hadn't seen. Little shoe prints, about the size a young girl would leave behind. "You're seeing this too, right?"

 

Kirk just nods, his eyes following the tracks off into the bushes, just like they'd reported. "Yep. Do not try to tell me this is secretly Wonderland, Bones, because I'm not sticking around for the Red Queen to start screaming 'off with their heads.'"

 

"Captain, there's more," Sulu says, looking a bit concerned. "Not all of the plants are real. I can feel most of the trees, the grass, the water plants in the pond. But that one," he says, pointing straight at a young maple that looks exactly like all the other maple trees around it, "isn't real. I get nothing from it. It doesn't respond to me, and I can't stimulate growth. It's not the only one, either. The whole forest is full of them."

 

What the fuck is this nonsense? "Wonderland and fake trees," Kirk muses out loud, trying to make sense of the whole thing. "Where's the rest of the landing party? Did Barrows or Rodriguez see anything weird?"

 

Before Sulu or McCoy can answer, there's a human shriek from deeper in the woods, and a loud whoosh of fire. "That's Barrows," Sulu says, drawing his phaser and springing into action, running toward the source of the sound. Kirk and McCoy follow instantly, ready to defend their crewmate against whatever new curveball this planet's throwing at them.

 

Fortunately the forest is green enough that the whole thing hasn't gone up in smoke, but they find Barrows in the middle of a clearing, grass burnt black in a wide swath in front of her. She's almost frozen in place, one hand still held out, ready to produce another fireball if needed. Rodriguez is kneeling in the blackened grass in front of her, running a tricorder over what looks like a giant melted lump of plastic.

 

"Report," Kirk orders, holstering his phaser. Whatever the threat was, it's been neutralized, clearly.

 

"It was a tiger, sir," Rodriguez says absently, not looking up from his scans.

 

"A tiger? Here?" McCoy initially looks surprised, then apparently thinks better of it. After all, his own sighting is a bit more ridiculous than mundane Earth wildlife. He reaches up and lightly touches Barrows' arm. "I think it's dead, yeoman."

 

She blinks hard, startled, like she hadn't noticed anyone else was there. But she nods and forces her arm down, still tense from the adrenaline. "It was coming after us. I didn't think, I just... reacted."

 

"Hey, no harm no foul," Kirk says, patting her shoulder as he passes. "So if it _was_ a tiger, what it is now?" he asks Rodriguez, looking over his shoulder at the tricorder screen.

 

"Some kind of artificial mechanism," Rodriguez reports, a bit surprised. "It's made out of the same thing as the fake trees Lieutenant Sulu pointed out to us. Some kind of... bio-plastic, very sophisticated. It's too melted to get much more out of it."

 

"That'd explain why our sensors didn't detect them," Kirk muses, considering the smoking lump at his feet. "They're not actually animals, so no lifeform readings."

 

"There could be all sorts of artificial animals on the planet, we just haven't seen them yet," Sulu thinks out loud. "But that doesn't explain the rabbit and the girl. Why would _they_ be here? They're specific storybook characters, and no one from Earth has ever been here that we know about."

 

"We could learn more if we managed to capture one of these constructs alive - uh, _undamaged_ ," McCoy corrects himself. "The rabbit left pretty clear tracks. We could probably follow it, no problem."

 

"Then that's where we'll start," Kirk agrees. "McCoy, you're with me. Sulu, take Barrows and Rodriguez. Scout the area and report back if you find anything else weird."

 

Kirk and McCoy return to the area where they saw the rabbit tracks, and begin tracing the path of the creature. "What's next?" Kirk wonders out loud. "Flying monkeys? Dragons?"

 

"God, I hope not," McCoy mutters. "I'm having enough trouble convincing myself that I didn't hallucinate the whole thing."

 

Kirk chuckles, and turns to answer, but he's distracted by a strange hooting call from overhead. The two officers look up, and high above them, a group of winged creatures fly by. Kirk stares, squinting against the sunlight. "Um, Bones..."

 

"Yeah, I see it. _You_ were the one who said flying monkeys, Jim."

 

"Yeah, I did." And there they are, a small flock of them, on their way to who-knows-where. Kirk watches them suddenly scatter, and then the sounds of a roar reach his ears, and his feathers stand on end. "What was that?"

 

McCoy stares upward in dismay. "That'd be your goddamn dragon."

 

There's something really, _really_ significant about that but neither of them has the luxury to contemplate it. A gleaming green dragon swoops down toward them, flame flickering through its teeth. Kirk gives McCoy a shove. "Run!" he shouts, bolting in the opposite direction.

 

The dragon screams, and fire barely misses him, scorching the grass between the two. McCoy makes a beeline for the nearest pond and dives in, finding shelter from the flame. Which leaves Kirk as the sole target.

 

He curses under his breath and runs, wings out, fully aware that he's built for gliding, not maneuverability. But it's in the air that he'll have the best chance at survival. Taking off from flat ground is _hard_ , and he manages to gain clearance just in time for the dragon to swoop back again. The flames scorch his boot heels and the back of his uniform pants, and he beats his wings hard to gain altitude. The air itself seems strange, almost electrified with the tension, and there's an updraft that shouldn't exist that lifts him skyward, giving him the height he needs to be able to evade attack.

 

The next few minutes are a terrifying, thrilling chase. More than once, he pulls his wings in for a dive and feels the mass of the dragon pass by overhead with little clearance, or feels the warmth of the flames licking at his wingtips. He's never pulled maneuvers like this before, not for this long, and he's starting to tire from it.

 

And that's when the fighter plane comes in.

 

It cuts across his flight path, engines droning ominously, and unleashes a hailstorm of projectiles in the direction of the dragon. Kirk barely manages to avoid being hit himself, and the dragon roars in challenge behind him, all its attention now focused on the mechanical beast that's interrupted the hunt.

 

He's not going to waste the opportunity. Kirk doesn't recognize where he is from the air; everything got all turned around during his mad dash to escape. But there's forest below, and that means cover, so he goes into a steep dive toward the closest clearing he can see, swooping in for a landing under the canopy and going as deep into the forest as he can. The roars of the dragon fade into the distance somewhat, and the sound of the plane returning fire reach his ears.

 

"Jesus," he pants, wings sagging from exhaustion. He fumbles for his communicator and flips it open. "Kirk to landing party, everyone okay?"

 

Confused affirmations filter in from Rodriguez and Barrows, and a relieved one from McCoy, who's probably going to drag Kirk straight to Medical once they get back. It's Sulu's reply that comes as a surprise. " _Captain, I'm all right, but I think_ I'm _responsible for the aircraft's appearance._ "

 

"Explain," he demands, casting a wary eye skyward in case the dragon is on its way back.

 

" _I saw that dragon harassing you, and started thinking that there was no way for us to help you without some kind of aerial fighter,_ " Sulu says hesitantly. " _I'm kind of a history buff, sir. That's a Mitsubishi Zero, one of the best dogfighters from Earth's second world war._ "

 

"That matches up with what McCoy and I learned," he says slowly as several thoughts click into place. "Everyone, meet back at the clearing where we beamed down. And try not to think about anything. I do mean _anything_."

 

He cuts the channel and turns on the communicator's tracking feature, homing in on the signals of its fellow devices. He doesn't dare try to locate them from the air, not with that dragon still flying around. So it's on foot or nothing.

 

He tries to keep his mind blank as he walks, but it's hard. Humans have always found that to be difficult. Tell them not to think of an elephant wearing a top hat, and what's the first thing that comes to mind?

 

 _Goddammit_. An elephant wearing a top hat saunters by, using its trunk to tip the hat politely. Kirk inwardly debates if this is what it actually feels like to be on drugs, but he nods politely back, otherwise ignoring it. _This is gonna be hard._

 

He makes it back to the clearing with only a few other incidents, mostly harmless, thank goodness. The others are all already there, grouped in a defensive huddle, phasers at the ready. McCoy is dripping wet but has managed to find a big fluffy towel from somewhere, which is oddly just as surreal as everything else he's seen so far.

 

"So apparently, whatever we think about comes to life," Kirk says, perhaps unnecessarily, as Sulu and McCoy both immediately nod. Barrows and Rodriguez look a little more skeptical, but he can see it's starting to make sense to them. "I don't know how, or why, but think harmless thoughts."

 

"I can explain that, Captain Kirk."

 

The voice is wholly unfamiliar, and Kirk turns to see a stranger in green robes, a wide smile on his face as he approaches. He looks human, but the captain isn't willing to bet that he actually _is_ , given what's happened so far. "Who are you?" Kirk demands.

 

"I'm the caretaker of this place," the man answers promptly. "My apologies. We have only recently discovered that you do not understand this place. These experiences were intended to amuse you."

 

"Amuse?" McCoy repeats incredulously. "We almost get killed by a goddamn dragon and that's supposed to be funny?"

 

The caretaker just smiles at him. "Doctor McCoy, you were never in any real danger. No consequences of these experiences is permanent. Any bodily injury can be repaired by our machines." The doctor looks up sharply at that, and the caretaker nods. "Yes, even that." He looks back at the rest of the officers again. "Here, you need only to imagine your fondest wishes, either old memories you wish to relive or new ones, anything at all. Any experience you wish to have - battle, fear, love, triumph - anything that pleases you can be made to happen."

 

"So it's like an... amusement park?" Rodriguez asks incredulously.

 

"Exactly," the caretaker agrees. "This entire planet was constructed for our race of people to come and play."

 

Sulu looks a bit stunned. "As advanced as you obviously are, you still play?"

 

"Sure," Kirk agrees, thinking about it. "The higher the stress, the more need to take time off and relax." He frowns a little, looking back at the caretaker. "Who are you? What planet are your people from?"

 

The caretaker shakes his head. "My impression is that your race is not yet ready to understand us, captain." He beams at them all, however, and there's no condescension in his eyes. "If you would use the proper caution, this amusement planet of ours could be an ideal place for your people to enjoy themselves, if you wish. I know you are all tired from your long journey, and you have so far to go still."

 

"That's not actually the worst idea I've ever heard," McCoy muses out loud. "Custom-tailored shore leave..."

 

There's a giggle from the edge of the clearing, and Kirk looks over to see two lovely ladies dressed like they came right out of Vegas, or maybe Rigel II, skimpy outfits and all. He looks back at McCoy with a disbelieving look, and the doctor shrugs innocently.

 

Kirk can't help but laugh a little. "All right, fine. I'll call the ship and start sending people down once they've been briefed. I expect all of you to be on your best behavior."


	7. Age

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is based on TOS 2x12 The Deadly Years.

McCoy frowns at himself in the mirror. God _dammit_ , those are gray hairs. Already. He'd always known that it was probably going to happen prematurely. Try having this sort of job and _not_ go gray when you're young. And that's not even counting all the extra, completely unnecessary stress that the captain puts him through all the time.

 

An excellent example being the decision to bring him along to the surface of Gamma Hydra IV. Scrambling his molecules back and forth across the galaxy isn't his idea of a good time. Though he'll grudgingly admit that it was a good idea - since they've brought back two of the colonists, about sixty years older than they should be. How do you even start trying to treat something like that?

 

The door to Sickbay swishes open, and he doesn't even have to turn around to recognize the cadence of Kirk's distinctive stride. "You're down here voluntarily?" McCoy throws over his shoulder. "Must be serious."

 

"It might be," Kirk says, and there's no trace of a joke in his voice, which by itself is worrying. McCoy spins around and sees the captain, wings unfolded just enough to make it obvious that they're not in a healthy condition. He's left a trail of feathers on the deck in his wake, and his wings look ragged and patchwork from their absence.

 

"You're molting?" McCoy questions, grabbing a tricorder and starting to scan him. "That's pretty normal, Jim."

 

"Yeah, but not _this_ fast," Kirk says, hopping up on the biobed without further prompting. "I didn't get any warning signs. No itching, no occasional loose feather, they're all going at once. Out of nowhere. My shoulders hurt, too. That's not normal."

 

McCoy frowns deeply, shifting his focus from the captain's wings to the shoulder muscles they're attached to. What he finds is disturbing. "That can't be right."

 

"Why? What's wrong?"

 

McCoy scans him again, just to be sure. "I don't know how to tell you this, but your shoulder joints are showing advanced arthritis."

 

Kirk's blue eyes widen in shock. "That's not possible. I'm only twenty-nine!"

 

"Yeah, I know. Your last physical three months ago was clear, too. This is new, but it is what it is. I can't explain it, any more than I can explain that," McCoy says, gesturing wildly toward the biobeds holding the prematurely-aged colonists.

 

The captain searches his face for any sign of a joke, and he reaches out to touch McCoy's head, turning it slightly. "Bones, you're going _gray_!" he says in alarm.

 

The two stare at each other as the realization hits them both. "We're affected by whatever aged the colonists," McCoy says, creeping horror writhing through his gut.

 

Kirk goes straight for the comm unit. "This is the captain. The entire landing party from Gamma Hydra Two must report to Medical immediately."

 

McCoy frowns. "Don't you mean Gamma Hydra Four?"

 

Kirk looks at him, uncertain. "That's what I said. Right?"

 

The doctor slowly shakes his head. "No, Jim, you didn't."

 

" _Shit_." Kirk doesn't slip up like that, and they both know it. The captain gets off the biobed and starts pacing, unable to sit still, and McCoy notices he's not fully folding up his wings either. "We need an answer fast, or we're screwed."

 

Spock responds to the summons promptly, raising an eyebrow the moment he sees them. If he's affected, McCoy can't tell just by looking at him, not yet. The benefits of a mostly Vulcan physiology, he supposes. "What has transpired?"

 

"Get over here," McCoy says, waving him over to the nearest biobed. "Whatever aged the colonists is affecting us too. Probably the whole landing party. Have you noticed any unusual symptoms since returning from the planet?"

 

Spock is silent for a moment as he considers the question, submitting to the scan. "Not to the extent that it seemed out of place. The ship does appear to be a degree or two colder than I am accustomed to experiencing. I assumed that my perception was faulty, or that the environmental controls were altered or malfunctioning."

 

Kirk reaches one wall and turns back to pace the other way, and the simple force of his footsteps shake another handful of feathers loose. "Jim, sit still before I make you sweep up," McCoy snaps at him. "You're making a mess."

 

The captain scowls at him, but grabs a chair, sitting in it backward and folding his arms across the backrest. "Well?"

 

"No obvious symptoms yet, but his cellular age is greater than it should be," McCoy reports. "He's just as affected as we are."

 

The remaining two members of the landing party, Chekov and Lieutenant Galway, arrive while the doctor is still running tests on Spock. "Keptin?" Chekov questions, brow furrowed in worry. "What is happening?"

 

"You know how the colonists got really old for no reason?" Kirk answers. "We're affected too. All of us, so far."

 

Galway is just as affected, but when McCoy scans Chekov, what he finds is surprising. "You're not showing any signs, actually," he tells Chekov. "You _are_ younger than the rest of us, but your cells are just as old as they're supposed to be. Now why would _you_ be spared?"

 

Chekov looks bewildered. "I don't know, doctor."

 

"Sorry Chekov, but I'm gonna have to run some more tests," McCoy says apologetically. "If you've got some kind of immunity, that may be our only chance to stop this thing before it's too late."

 

The young navigator looks like he's dreading what he might have to go through, but he doesn't complain, simply nodding. "Aye, sir. Anything to help."

 

Now that he knows what's going on, McCoy can almost feel himself getting older by the minute. It takes hours to run all the tests he wants to do on Chekov's bio samples, but his hands become less and less steady as time passes, and he has to stop more and more often to soak his gills. It'd be frightening to realize how quickly he's declining, if he'd been able to spare the attention to contemplate it. Even moreso when he realizes that both colonists have finally succumbed to the ravages of time in the meantime.

 

He's shaken from his concentration when Kirk enters Sickbay to check up on his progress. The captain has only been gone for a few hours, but he's already developed silver streaks in his hair above his ears, and his wings look even more ragged and mottled with gray patches. "Bones, how's it look?"

 

He can't help but be grouchy about it. "I've got _nothing_ , Jim. Chekov is totally healthy, and we're just getting old. There's no virus, no antibodies, no goddamn evil spirits or whatever nonsense you like."

 

Kirk frowns, nodding absently. "Spock's checking out a comet near the planet. Might be radiation or something like that."

 

McCoy lets out a frustrated sigh. "Space is dangerous, and this just goes to prove it. Why I ever followed you out here is beyond me... must be getting senile."

 

"It's not retroactive, Bones." There's a blatant undercurrent of fear in his voice, and McCoy doesn't have to guess to know why. Losing your mind is _terrifying_ , especially if you know it's happening. Even with all the advances to medical technology in the last few centuries, there's no treatment for age-induced dementia that'll take effect quickly enough to keep up with the landing party's rapid aging. If their minds go before they find the cure, that's all she wrote.

 

Well that's too depressing to dwell on, dammit. McCoy is not going to spend his last days obsessing over something as stupid as forgetfulness. "There's got to be _something_ I'm missing. Some reason why Chekov wouldn't be affected."

 

Kirk shivers a bit, and a few more feathers drop to the deck. "This is stupid. I'm going to die before I'm thirty because I got too _old_."

 

"You're not gonna die, Jim," McCoy says vehemently, surprising himself at the anger in his own voice. "I'm gonna kick this thing's ass and you'll be young and pretty again."

 

Kirk isn't paying much attention to him though, and when he speaks, it's understandable why. "My dad never made it past twenty-nine either. Fuck."

 

 _Goddammit_. McCoy grabs a stylus and chucks it at the captain's head as hard as he can. His hands shake too much for it to be accurate, but it does bounce off Kirk's chest, startling him. "I said I'm gonna beat this thing! Now shut the hell up about this dying nonsense and help me think."

 

"You didn't find anything?" Kirk asks.

 

The doctor frowns. "I already told you I didn't."

 

"...oh." There's a flicker of fear on Kirk's face before he shuts it out, trying to turn his mind toward the problem at hand. "There's got to be something. Did he do anything different from us, down on the planet?"

 

"How the hell should I know? We split up, remember?" McCoy snaps back, then hesitates, unsure why he's so grouchy over nothing. His gills are aching but that's no excuse to take it out on the captain. "Sorry. This is getting to me, too."

 

Kirk just grunts, wordlessly accepting his apology. "Chekov wasn't with me the whole time either. Actually... he was the one who discovered the first body. Shouldn't he have been infected first?"

 

McCoy shakes his head. "I _told_ you, there's no virus or anything." But Kirk's questions have sparked something in his own memories, something that seems important. "He ran right the hell out of there, didn't he?"

 

The captain nods, frowning, unsure where the doctor is going with this. "Yeah, it scared the shit out of him."

 

"Fight or flight," McCoy muses out loud. "Maybe something to do with that? Heart rate increases, digestion shuts down, the body floods with adrenaline." There's something important there, but blast it, he can't remember. "Get Spock down here. We need his brain working on this too."

 

To everyone's dismay, it takes eighteen hours to finally come up with a workable serum. By then, Spock is starting to resemble his elder ambassadorial counterpart far more strongly than anyone would like to see. Lieutenant Galway's gone stone deaf and her back is bent in a painful-looking curve. Kirk's tattered wings have gone entirely white, as has what's left of his hair, and he can barely remember conversations from ten minutes ago. And as for McCoy, his hands have developed an uncontrollable tremor and he can hardly stand the uncomfortable lack of humidity onboard, forcing him to periodically stick his head in Sickbay's eyewash station.

 

But to everyone's _relief_ , the serum is verified before any of them keel over dead. It's almost ridiculously painful, but thirty minutes after injection, McCoy looks in the mirror and is relieved to see his younger face looking back at him, all traces of white gone from his hair, and the lines gone from his face. Well, the ones that weren't there before, anyway. "Oh thank Jesus," he says, running a hand through his hair.

 

"I'll say," Kirk agrees, looming into McCoy's personal space as he always does, so he can check himself out in the same mirror. "You were true to your word, Bones. We're all young and pretty again." There's a haunted look in his eyes though, despite the relief in his voice.

 

McCoy hesitates, not sure if this is the time to push it. "Jim... what you said, about being twenty-nine..."

 

Kirk's jaw tightens, cutting him off without a word. "Not now."

 

"You really should talk about it," McCoy says, hoping that this isn't the wrong thing to say.

 

But Kirk just shakes his head. "I will. I just... need to get my thoughts in order first. Haven't had a lot of that in the last day or so."

 

The doctor sighs, and claps a hand on Kirk's shoulder. "All right. You know where to find me when you're ready."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all for this installment! I may go back and revisit more old episodes later, and I have some at least semi-original ideas for the latter two years of the five-year mission, but this felt like a good lead-in to Star Trek Beyond so I'm leaving it here for now.


End file.
